


I Think We Just Might Be Alright

by sweeterthankarma



Category: You (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Joe gets arrested, Love isn't a psychopath and therefore doesn't kill Candace, Mild Hurt/Comfort, hookups but with emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: “No offense,” Candace says after settling back against the headboard of Love’s bed and twisting her body to face her, “but isn’t it a little fucked up that I have the same taste in women as the man who tried to kill me?”
Relationships: Candace Stone/Love Quinn
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	I Think We Just Might Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an alternate universe where Love isn't a psychopath and therefore doesn't kill Candace; instead, they call the police and Joe is arrested.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Dunno" by Mac Miller which was stuck in my head the whole day I wrote this, but really, the overall sentiment of this fic is just "let Candace and Love be alright, preferably together."

“No offense,” Candace says after settling back against the headboard of Love’s bed and twisting her body to face her, “but isn’t it a little fucked up that I have the same taste in women as the man who tried to kill me?”

It’s the first thing she’s said after they’ve fucked besides “holy shit” and “Christ, you’re good at this,” and Love doesn’t react right away. She bites on her bottom lip just a little— and it’s barely noticeable, but of course Candace catches it. It could be a nervous habit, or maybe she’s just thinking, or maybe she’s already reminiscing in the memory of how Candace’s mouth felt on top of hers, among many other places on her body. Candace couldn’t blame her, as she’s admittedly doing the same, already wondering if it’d be too much to ask Love to shower later in hopes of a second round. It’s been a long time since someone has made her feel good, not to mention the fact that Love bought her lunch _and_ a cocktail yesterday, but it doesn’t mean anything, of course. They’re just people, maybe friends, with shared trauma who are doing their best to cope and start anew. For Candace, she’s more than satisfied with just a smidge of respect and an orgasm. 

A lot has happened within the last few months, and even more in the past two weeks: she’s crafted and maintained a false identity, tracked down Joe, met Forty and pretended to fall in love with him, found Joe’s cage and his dead neighbor in it, opened Love’s eyes to Joe’s treachery, and finally, of course, the best part, called the fucking police and got to see the long-awaited look of despair on Joe’s face when he was handcuffed, read his Miranda rights, and marched off to a different, more legal kind of cage. The whole thing has floored her, but not as much as the fact that she’s ended up in bed with Love Quinn. She’s not mad about it though, not in the slightest.

Finally, Love shifts and looks Candace dead in the eyes. For a second, Candace thinks she’s pissed that she would bring up Joe, maybe offended. _I don’t want to think about him ever again,_ Love had said after their first questioning session with the police, wiping away tears and visibly shaking to the point where Candace would have given her her jacket if it weren’t eighty degrees outside. But Love’s face morphs into a smug grin and Candace immediately relaxes, lets herself admire the way Love’s eyes light up, amused. 

“No, because you have good taste,” Love remarks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and looking at her— really looking at her, those caramel locks framing her pretty face with those high cheekbones and soft, _so soft_ lips— Candace thinks maybe it is. 

“Besides, who else is ever going to be able to comprehend me? What I’ve been through?” Love’s eyes linger on Candace’s inner arm, where there’s a series of scars from her struggle with Joe years before he ever moved to Los Angeles. “What we’ve been through?”

It’s meant to be a joke, at least partly, but it doesn’t land. The atmosphere around them changes. It’s only been three and a half weeks since they’ve seen Joe’s face.

Candace swallows back the emotion rising in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, voice weak, then tries again. “No one else is gonna get that shit.”

Love attempts to smile again. 

“You’re stuck with me,” she says, nudging Candace with her elbow. She laughs but her words still sound a little heavy, a little too emotional. Candace is struck by the intensity of what she’s said, even as she tries again. “We couldn’t pitch our experience to Forty’s director friends and have him make it a movie, it just wouldn’t happen. It’s too unbelievable.”

Candace nods. “It’d be an awful movie, too.”

“The worst,” Love agrees. There’s a pause as a look of hesitation and curiosity flashes across her face, and then she decides to move. She scoots herself closer to Candace, curling her body to fit underneath the blankets atop her bed and pull them to her chest, and she leans into her side, letting out a tiny sigh of relief. She rests a tentative hand across her torso, and when Candace reacts positively and slides closer, she nestles her face into the crook of her neck.

“This part of the movie would be okay, though,” she says a few minutes later, after they’ve settled into each other and relaxed, and her words make Candace exhale, almost make her feel like crying. No one's said anything sweet like that to her in so long and been serious, been genuine. No one's known about the shit she's been through and still cared about her. No one's known about the shit, period. 

“Yeah,” she replies, her hand teasing against the ends of Love’s hair. She tries to be nonchalant. “I like this part.”

“It’s going to take a long time to get over it, though," Love adds, switching the mood back as quickly as it has arisen. She needs to talk about it, and Candace gets it. She can't blame her, even though she likes the oblivion of pretending. Laying here with Love, laying with anyone, it's so easy to pretend. Not anymore, though.

Love focuses her gaze on the ghost of a mark she left on Candace’s collarbone, and meets her eyes just for a second before looking away and saying, “if we ever do.”

“Yeah," Candace replies, and then adds, "we will.” She’s surprised at her own response. She doesn’t entirely believe it— or, she hadn’t before, but now that the words are out in the open, spoken from her own lips, she finds that a future without Joe Goldberg haunting her is actually plausible, actually something she can consider and actually sort of believe in. She imagines a life of freedom and peace, one that’s so close she can almost taste it, feel it, embrace it. All the while, she wonders if she’ll ever be able to see ordinary, everyday objects for what they are rather than weapons that Joe could find a way to kill with; he was always so inventive, two steps ahead. She wonders if she’ll ever see forests as safe havens for nature and animals to flourish and grow rather than a place to suffocate and die. She wonders if she’ll ever see the world that way. 

Love echoes her words, squeezes her hand tight. “We will. I know we will.” She presses a kiss to her temple, and Candace thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’s right. And if she is stuck with her, she doesn’t think that’s such a bad place to be, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know! Am I the only Love and Candace shipper out there? Come talk to me in the comments or at my tumblr blog under the same username, sweeterthankarma!


End file.
